Dirty Mutant
by ValeriusCorvinus
Summary: Dark secrets shroud the new student, unbeknownst to all. Trouble stirs at the institute. Is she better suited to an evil way of life? Guess you'll have to find out! R&R, s'il vous plâit.
1. Dirty Mutant

DISCLAIMER: I have not, do not, and will not ever own the x-men. I do own my OC, though, so no dibs. Thanx.  
  
Sphinx489~ I've redone the first coupla chapters, so they should be better than they were before, I hope. Didn't change too much, those of you who actually read my stuff. Hope it's more enjoyable now! R&R, s'il vous plait!  
  
~"If you hate something thoroughly without knowing why, you can be sure there is something of it in your own nature." ~Friedrich Hebbel  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Dirty mutant! Get the hell out of my store before I call the cops! If I ever see you again, I'll fucking kill you!" the grocery store manager shouted at me. I remember his name, too - George - it said it on his nametag. I've never quite understood why people hate me so much. Why are they afraid of mutants?  
  
I snapped out of my shock abruptly when the clerk shoved me away from the busted jugs of water scattered across the white tile floor. Under other circumstances, I think the flooded foods would have been funny, but at that moment in time, they could've only gotten me in more trouble. Tripping over my own feet, I sprawled across the pavement outside the convenience store, a small crowd having already begun to gather - on the opposite side of the street, of course. You know, might catch the big, bad mutant disease.  
  
My cheeks burned as I stumbled into the alleyway next to the supermarket. Reminding me of my immense hunger, street lamps switched on, burning brightly as they signaled the end of another day. It had been two since I'd had more than a bite to eat. I was starving.  
  
It's not like I'd done anything hugely wrong back there. There really wasn't a need for the asshole to blow up like that. Granted, I was in his store to steal shit to begin with, but he hadn't known and I hadn't actually taken anything. Normally my freaky powers aren't too hazardous, but that time, I'd been eyeing a little kid sitting in a cart holding a lollipop. That kid was so taunting me with it. What! Well, my jealousy just boiled over.  
  
That's usually when something happens - when my emotions go into overdrive. Anyway, the next thing I knew, huge five gallon jugs of water were exploding everywhere, spilling their contents over the surrounding area. I guess since I'd been standing by them, that kind of qualified me for the blame.  
  
At least that wasn't as bad as the accident with the water tower in my hometown, though. Yeah, that's why I'm basically starving to death here - I'm a fugitive. What am I supposed to do when I make a water tower rupture at its seams and flood the entire community? So, a few bus rides later, I found myself here, in downtown Chicago, the Magnificent Mile, the Windy City, the. all right I think you get the point. And that brings you up to the current moment in time.  
  
Crash! I jolt out of my reverie and quickly move to hug the brick wall of a building as a trash can rolls by. Shortly after comes a scrawny black cat. Oh joy, just what I need. more bad luck.  
  
Something tells me that the small little feline wasn't the cause of the sudden noise. Peering out of my shadow, I am soon rewarded - if you can call it that. Halfway down the alley, about seventy five feet from me, are two dark shadows, conversing in lowered tones.  
  
"De prof said she'd be close by," the taller, more man-like figure says. For a short instant, I find myself charmed by his 'similar to mine' French accent. It has a slightly different lilt to it, though, as if something else were mixed in with it, so I figure he's probably Cajun by the rough pronunciation of his words.  
  
"She is - perhaps in this very alley," a deep, rich female voice says. By the intonation I can tell the woman is black. Stifling a gasp, I realize they're discussing me. Moving in slow motion, glancing around, they proceed in my general direction. Screaming, I bolt out of my lair.  
  
"Dere she is!"  
  
Glimpsing over my shoulder as I sprint, I can see the tall man break into a run, chasing me. What truly shocks me, however, is that the black woman rises into the air to pursue by flight, cape billowing in the wind as her white hair splays out in all directions like lightning.  
  
"Calm yourself, child," she says, voice resonating off of walls and various objects. "We're not going to hurt you!" Funny how people always say that sort of thing when they are intending to harm you. I sprint faster, spying the Cajun gaining on me.  
  
"No!" I scream at them. "Go away!" I gasp in air as my lungs find themselves unable to cope with the lack of oxygen.  
  
Water. need. water.  
  
"We're here to help you!" the man shouts. I struggle to run faster, every step hard earned and with great cost to me. Fighting, I manage to gain some ground, at least, until I trip over the curb, bending my ankle at such an angle that its agonizing protest snaps, crackles, and pops. Taking full advantage, he overtakes me in a matter of seconds.  
  
Before I can even rise, he pins me to the concrete, banging my head slightly before he can cushion it with his hand. Wincing, I take note of how good he smells. Hey, I'm only female.  
  
Groaning, I slowly open my eyes, allowing them a seductive flutter. I find myself staring into a pair of red and black demonic eyes. Naturally, though, I'm not any more surprised at that sight than he at my swirling cerulean and violet ones. God, he has a gorgeous face. And a lithe body, too, from what I can tell. I can feel my cheeks begin to burn as the blood slowly caresses its way up my neck all the way to the tips of my ears.  
  
"You gonna run, petite?" he drawls whisperingly, letting the words roll charmingly off his tongue.  
  
"Unh." I reply.  
  
"Bien." The slim, airborne woman lands beside us, causing me to have to twist my neck ungracefully in order to get a good look at her.  
  
"Gambit. Get off her," she says. I'm not sure whether I agree with her or not, but he sheepishly slips away as if he were silk. I suck in a quick, pleasurable breath and twist my body convulsively on the earth as I ensure all body parts are intact, including my ankle. The pain has now rescinded to a dull throbbing.  
  
She watches him for a short instant before turning to regard me. "As we said, we want to help you - to extend an invitation to you to come and live with us. And learn how to control your escalating powers." I roll into a crouching position, glaring at the weird weather witch.  
  
"À mon avis, vous êtes des gens bêtes," I spit at her in my native language so she might not understand. "Ici essair capturer moi."  
  
"Hey!" the Cajun, Gambit it seems, steps in front of the woman. "It'd be a good idea not to piss us off when we're offerin' t'help you. I mean, after all, we already have 'captured' you." Gulping, I swallow a huge glob of spit.  
  
"Sorry," I whisper in a nearly inaudible voice, opting for English this time. Obviously not quite catching what has just transpired, the woman speaks up.  
  
"Anyway," she says, giving a meaningful look to both of us. "We're both mutants - like you - and want to offer you a place to stay. Would you like to join us? Just to try it? You can always leave." Judging by her tone and the uneasiness that quickly passes over Gambit's countenance, something tells me her final sentence is up for debate, but I keep my feeling to myself.  
  
"Sure. What the hell?" I reply. "What've I got to lose?" Please. Don't answer that.  
  
"Good. Follow." And that was that.  
  
She swivels on her heels, silver cape swirling around her slender ankles as she does so, to lead the way. "By the way, my name's Ororo Munroe. This is Remy Lebeau." She gestures towards Gambit as he falls into step beside me. I limp somewhat imperceptibly.  
  
"You hurt, chère?" he whispers in my ear. "Mind if I nurse you back t'health?" He says the latter with a sly, lopsided grin at me. Uh, oh. knees melting. I begin to crumple to the ground in fatigue. Strangely, though, I have the sudden feeling of weightlessness, as if I'm flying - not on my own accord.  
  
"Ahh!" I shriek, looking down to witness terra firma retreating from sight, into the darkness.  
  
"Chill, mon amie," he says. "Storm's just tryin' t'help you out a bit. And get us t'our ride faster." I gaze into his eyes and then at the massive black jet looming into view. "Dis be de Blackbird." He beckons toward the stealth craft as we land neatly on the ramp leading to its inner bowls. "Dis way."  
  
Swallowing deeply again, still trying to regain the moisture I had lost in my exertion, I follow the two mutants inside, where they articulate which flight seat I am to sit in. The huge monster comes alive, engines humming lightly in the background. I fasten my seatbelt tightly as my anxiety increases steadily. My heart is now throbbing in my throat and I squeeze my lids shut repeatedly, reopening them with liquid nearly overflowing. I can feel the needle pricks of fear in the corners of my eyes as they attempt to refocus.  
  
A bald headed man pivots in a chair in front of me, wheeling himself back to me in what turns out to be a (duh) wheelchair, stopping only a few inches away.  
  
"Hello, Chantal," he says. I jump at his unexpected knowledge of my name. "Yes, I know who you are - and I'm a mutant as well. A telepath as it seems. Don't worry, I won't read your innermost thoughts without your permission. Unless, of course, it's absolutely necessary." His dark eyes pierce me with his final statement.  
  
"How comforting." I smirk.  
  
"It should be," he replies, unphased. "My name is Professor Charles Xavier. We're headed to my school - the Xavier School for the Gifted. There, you will be taught how to control your brewing capabilities and enhance the ones you have. Also, you will discover exactly what and everything you can do using them."  
  
"Cool enough."  
  
"I should hope so. Since you've already met Remy, he will escort you to your new room when we arrive. You'll be going shopping for belongings later on. I assume you have none at present?" He raises an inquisitive eyebrow at me, hinting that he can easily find out for himself if he didn't already know. I nod. "One more thing. Our school is undergoing construction for new dormitories. You will have your own room, not to worry, but there's only one left currently and it's in the boys' hall. At the very end, though, so you won't be extremely out of place." He rolls to the front of the cabin, next to Ms. Monroe, at the controls. Seeing him pass, Remy gets up and strides back to sit by me.  
  
"D'accord?"  
  
"Ouais."  
  
"C'est bien," he exhales, relief settling upon him as he relaxes into the comfortable seats. I can't help but smile as he closes his eyes tiredly. A few moments later, I follow suit, my head unpredictably sliding on the headrest as I drift out of consciousness. 


	2. Sirène

DISCLAIMER: Nope, I keep trying, but it just seems like I don't have enough money to buy X-men or any of its Marvel components. Oh, well. I still have my OC.  
  
Sphinx489~ Notta lotta ta saya. R&R!  
  
~"Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don't walk behind me, I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend." ~Albert Camus  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I wake up to find myself leaning on Remy's shoulder with his arm enveloping me. We're covered with a light blanket. In front of and facing us is Ms. Munroe, flipping through a TIME magazine.  
  
"You've awakened. We should be landing soon - we've been in flight for about an hour."  
  
"Où. where. are we going again?"  
  
"Westchester, New York." The jet jolts, making me bounce once where I sit. Remy grunts awake, peering down at me as he starts to sit up. Leaving his arm around me, he smiles charmingly. A small shiver dances spiritedly up my spine.  
  
"Uh, what was that?"  
  
"We've stopped, ma copine," he answers, squeezing my shoulders. I can sense a slow blush crawling across my face again and I'm grateful when he seems not to notice. "De Blackbird's got a VTOL system - dat's what de bump was." Ahh. understanding dawns. Not quite, but, hey, at least I don't feel too stupid. Yet.  
  
Professor Xavier presses a button and the exit ramp painstakingly lowers. We walk down it, with me consciously aware of Remy pacing behind me the whole way. At the base, a woman with strikingly bright red hair, appearing to be a teacher, stands next to a shorter, ebony haired girl. The girl shifts from foot to foot in impatience.  
  
"This is Dr. Jean Grey, another instructor here," Storm states. I'm guessing they call them 'instructors' here to sound more formal. Never trust formality. "And this is Monet St. Croix, also called M, a fellow student. She'll be joining you and Gambit in your room to assist in getting settled before you go shopping."  
  
"Nice to meet you," Monet thrust out her hand. Yeah, way too formal. I suppose I'll have to help change that. Still, when in Rome. At least for now.  
  
"Shall we?" Remy touches my forearm, urging me silently to follow him down a metal corridor. I comply. Monet gives me a small smirk. We enter an elevator and no more than ten seconds pass before the doors slide open again, revealing vast mahogany and cherry halls.  
  
"Whoa." I step out ahead of them and turn 360 degrees to gain the full aspect of my surroundings. To the left, I can see the main entrance of the mansion and to the right, huge glass doors leading out into the brilliant beauty of an early sunrise. Along the walls are about a dozen doors and a small, well lit sitting area strategically placed in front of me, tall wooden pillars separating it from the rest of the wide expanse of a hallway. The tall, ornate windows allowed plenty of light to splash along the reflecting tile floor through their see-through maroon curtains.  
  
"Pretty cool, huh?" M asks, grabbing my arm to knock me out of a stupor. We rush to catch up with Remy, who is already several yards away, heading to the foyer's grand staircase. He glances back to grin and roll his eyes at our girlish behavior, shaking his head.  
  
"What?!"  
  
Sprinting up the steps, M turns toward the hallway to the right - east, I guess by the position of the rising sun through the glass of the front entrance.  
  
"I'll be back in a minute, guys," she calls, walking backwards in the opposite direction we're heading. "I just need to get my debit card before we go shopping."  
  
"Debit card?" I ask, dumbfounded. Why would a teenager have a debit card? "Why's she going that way?"  
  
"Remember - de prof said you'd be in de mens' hall. De west wing. 'N don' worry, your debit's waitin' for you on your desk, probably. We all get one - money comes outta school funds 'nd Xavier's pocket."  
  
"Really." I reply, mischievously running plans through my head as I rub my palms together. It appears there's no budget on this trip. Suddenly, I think of something slightly humorous and, like a teenager (which I am), say it. "Wait a minute, the professor said I'd be staying in the boys' hallway." He turns around and gives me a teasingly offended glare, raising an exploring eyebrow at me in the process. I grin, barely containing a childish giggle. The rest of the walk down to the end was spent in silence.  
  
"Here we are."  
  
I twist the key in the lock and push open the immense door. I step inside, opening it just enough so he can enter, too. In the center of the room, positioned against the wall, is a king-sized bed. A dresser with a mirror is across from it and against the wall closest to us is a desk. At the far end of the room I can see the opening to either a closet or a bathroom behind a billowy white curtain, also concealing a patio door leading to a balcony. I squeal with delight upon the discovery of a 35" TV and a computer. Oh, yeah. And the debit card.  
  
Flopping onto the bare mattress, I roll onto my stomach and pat the empty space beside me. "So, what's my 'codename' gonna be?" I ask, wasting time while waiting for Monet to return.  
  
"Don' know. It's your choice."  
  
"Hmm. maybe something French." I lick my upper lip in concentration. Remy is staring intensely at me. "Something to do with water."  
  
"Eau?"  
  
"Ugh! That sounds so ridiculous. How about Verseau?"  
  
"Excuse-moi for noticing," he says as he seats himself on the edge of the bed, tucking his trench coat around him, hiding a tiny glimpse of black leather underneath, "but you aren't exactly a male - or a constellation for dat matter. Why don' you just be Cancer while you're at it?"  
  
"Well, sorry," I reply sarcastically. "Do you have any better ideas?" I roll over onto my back again, looking up at him from this perspective, finding the view just as enjoyable.  
  
"All right. What d'ya think of Sirène? You do kinda look like a mermaid wit' dat blond 'n brown streaked hair." I twist a lock to examine it.  
  
"Sirène. I like it."  
  
"Sirène it is, den." He leans closer to me, imploring for a kiss, it seems. A dreamy expression washes over his face. I part my lips ever so slightly, half closing my eyes. Then.  
  
Monet bursts into the room. He blinks twice, jolting us both out of the trance as he shakes his head, abruptly returning to an upright position. It feels like I'm coming up from the depths of a dark, but pleasant abyss. Everything is muffled and happening faster than my mind can react. I drop my chin to my chest and quickly sit up as well. She hasn't noticed.  
  
"Let's go!" Seizing my hand, she pulls me off the bed and proceeds to drag me across the carpet before I can even stand, in an attempt to get me out to door faster. "The stores are waiting!" I groan. It's not like I hate to shop. it's just that I don't like spending hours and hours looking at or for one thing and, according to Monet's excitement over the simple concept, that's exactly what we'd end up doing. "I convinced Warren to give us a ride," she says as we bounce down the stairs. "Oh, yeah. Remy, Jean said to go to her office - something about math homework?" The handsome Cajun blushes and swiftly retreats into the shadows behind us. I'm sorry to hear he won't be joining us. I might have tried on some cute and really tight leather clothes.  
  
"Who's Warren?"  
  
"That would be me." I jump, startled as a tan, blond man with glorious white-feathered wings rounds the corner ahead of us. "Enchantèe."  
  
"Enchantè, aussi," I reply, pleased with his attention to detail, accepting the offered hand. "Chantal LaJolie." I can feel Monet's eyes burning holes in the back of my head as she watches the interaction. Someone's a little jealous, perhaps?  
  
"Warren Worthington. Senior. You?"  
  
"Junior."  
  
"Can we get going now?" M's shrill voice whines. "We've only got one day to buy all her things, Archangel." Laying a heavy emphasis on his name, she gestures rudely at me, simultaneously staring pointedly into the oceanic blue eyes of the winged teenager as he lifts his lips from the back of my hand and depresses a tiny button on the side of his watch. The air shimmers around him like a heat wave before resettling as it had been. It takes me a second to notice that his extra appendages are no longer present.  
  
"What. Where." I stutter.  
  
"Holographic projection. Protects us 'dredges' of society from the rest of the barbarians. They're still there, you just can't see them."  
  
Monet steps around me and protectively slides her arm through Warren's, leaving me behind to follow in their stead as we stride to a shiny silver corvette, obviously brand new. I don't think they're boyfriend-girlfriend by the way he glances back approvingly at me as he unlocks the doors with the press of a button.  
  
"Fasten your seatbelts, ladies, and get ready for a ride." 


	3. Dehydrate and Die?

DISCLAIMER: Yatta, yatta, yatta. I think you know by now, so.  
  
Sphinx489~ yay! Another chap fixed! Enjoy! R&R!  
  
~"Love does not only transform our mental/emotional nature, it also involves the physical system of our body which goes through profound changes as well." ~David McArthur  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
So it's not as big as Marshall Fields in Chicago, but it's certainly not too shabby. After a short, but exhilaratingly fast ride in a well air- conditioned car with 'modern' music blaring, I find myself staring up into the huge glass eyes of THE mall. Of course, I only get a few short seconds to slobber all over myself before Monet willfully pulls me inside. That's where Warren almost escapes. Almost.  
  
"Where do you think you're getting off to?" Monet questions, adding too much sugar to her sour inflection. Warren develops an 'I think I'm gonna be sick' puppy look.  
  
"Uh... to the music store to. uh. oh all right, I'll come with you guys."  
  
Monet grins at her triumph. Is it just me or does she try way too hard? But, at least she's pretending to be my friend right now.  
  
"Oof," I spit out as I'm shoved into a lingerie store.  
  
"Basics, first." Did I mention that she's getting really annoying though?  
  
What seems like ages later, we emerge from the multicolored abyss of panties, thongs, bras, and other things no woman should be forced to wear - yet seem to willingly anyway. At this point, I feel worse for poor Warren than myself. He's the one stuck lugging our five stuffed-to-the-brim bags as we proceed onward to a linen store.  
  
"Um. Monet." I venture.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'd kinda like to hunt around by myself for awhile if you don't mind." She turns to regard me.  
  
"No prob. I need to find some candles and stuff for my room. Have fun." Without any more conversation, we split apart. Warren stands by himself for a moment, looking almost comical with the Victoria's Secret bags stuck on every available limb. Then, he walks over to me.  
  
"There's no way I'm sticking with her for another hour." I grin, leading him to another humorous encounter as I search for the 'perfect' paint, bedspread, curtains, etc. Naturally, I don't take as long as Monet does - I only get caught up once when I can't decide between the white tiger, snow leopard, or regular leopard print theme. Warren stands patiently through all this turmoil, though a slight blush floods his features as he no doubt creates dirty images in his mind. In the end, I decide on the regular leopard print. That's when he has to make an emergency trip back to the car.  
  
"He'll be back." For the first time, Monet and I actually click as friends as we pile our arms full of clothes to try on, leaving each store in just enough time for our mutant slave to find us and carry our purchases out to the vehicle. It nearly feels as if I am back at home, having a perfectly normal, average day out with friends. The only difference being that I'm nowhere near home and I have a more interesting past now. It's almost six o'clock when we finally collapse on the leather seats of the hotrod. Granted we probably aren't as tired as Warren is, but still. Taking one's clothes on and off repeatedly can really wear one out.  
  
"Wow, eight whole hours shopping - has to be my new record. I think I'll wait until tomorrow to sort my things out," Monet says. "I'll help you put everything away tonight, though, before I go to bed. If we work hard, we should be done by. next month!" We break into hysterical laughter as our servant slams the trunk closed and climbs into the car. We drive back to the mansion in exhausted silence. Of course, when we hear that dinner is being served, we cheer up. Unfortunately for Warren, forgetting we have stuff to take up to our rooms and practically racing each other for food. Being the nice person he is, he did put everything in my room without complaining. How sweet. He'll probably never want to go shopping with us again.  
  
Monet drags me (Hmm. do I see a pattern beginning to form?) over to her table, where plates of healthy (ugh) food are already placed around the table. There are only two seats left - apparently, one for me and one for her. I immediately begin shoveling food into my mouth, barely managing to appear appropriate in front of everyone. What can I say? Aside from the Mountain Dew and Jones I'd drunk at the mall, I haven't had anything with food substance in it for nearly three days, now.  
  
"Hey! Slow down, sugar!" A honey thick accent drawls. I glance up. "You look like a ravenous wolf - life you haven't eaten in days!"  
  
"I haven't." I resume.  
  
"Monet!" Good. The strange southern girl with white streak in her hair has decided to pick on someone else. "You haven't introduced any of us." Oh, merde. I loathe introductions.  
  
"Oh! Sorry, guys. Okay. This is Chantal LaJolie, codenamed." she stops mid-sentence, peering at me. I unhappily oblige her with one.  
  
"Sirène."  
  
"Sirène," she repeats, then continues. "Chantal, this is Marie D'ancanto - Rogue," she indicates the girl who told me I look like an animal. Grrr. "Bobby Drake - Iceman, Piotr Rasputin - Colossus." she pauses to catch her breath.  
  
"My name's Paige Guthrie," yet another southern girl says, taking the cue. "Codename's Husk. My brother, Sam goes here too - he's a senior; too good to sit with us. And this is Remy -"  
  
"We've already met," I interject. He smirks briefly. The occupants of the table exchange glances with each other.  
  
"And I'm Pyro," I turn to view the last person seated at the opposite end from me. He's playing with a lighter, flicking the lid repetitively. Click, Clack. Click, Clack.  
  
"I can see that." The group laughs lightly, nervously.  
  
"John Allerdyce, nice to meet ya." He leans across the table to shake my hand. Why does everyone keep doing that!?! Good thing I only have to go through introductions once 'cause I think I'd lose a couple screws going through this again.  
  
After a few seconds, I have to pull my hand from his grasp. Bobby and Paige chuckle. I glance at them, wondering if I was missing something - an inside joke, maybe. I catch Remy's eye. He doesn't look too happy. Ahh. he wants me first. I think. Sometimes that can be dangerous, though, so I'll stop.  
  
Sooner than I imagine, dinner is over and everyone head out to the patio. Luckily, Monet comes over to me before we get pushed out through the crowded doors.  
  
"Come on. We need to put your things away so we can have some fun tomorrow." Yes! I don't have to pretend to be sociable! So far. Something about her voice tells me I won't be staying that way for long. The torture is yet to come.  
  
"What's tomorrow?" I ask, curious. I haven't looked at a calendar lately, maybe it's some special holiday.  
  
"Saturday!" she cries, digging through the sacks on my floor, throwing clothes at me while she pulls out the linen stuff and the purple cans. "Let's paint!" Joy. I grab a roller and slop it onto the walls, using my 'power' to dry it. That's about the only thing I can see it being useful for - that and drying off out of the shower. Other than that it's simply a curse.  
  
By the time we finish carefully placing everything it's after midnight. We both yawn, mine more of a show than hers. I'm used to late nights like this. Not to mention, now that I have food in my stomach, I am content to loll until the early dawn. I drink another glass of water. I've been drinking them all night and she gives me a curious look.  
  
"I'm going to bed - I'm absolutely zonked!" We both giggle at the word. "Chantal. why do you keep drinking all that water?"  
  
"It keeps me from feeling tired," I say, not willing to elaborate. "Gotta have the recommended eight glasses of water a day." I smile, wryly, knowing full well that unless I keep my percent body water constant, I'll get sick and maybe even die.  
  
"Oh. Well. 'Night." I stare at my feet as she passes by and walks out into the hallway.  
  
"Bonne nuit." Once she's left, I become more inquisitive about my new environment. Having refilled my stomach capacity and drank enough water to fill a pool, I decide to explore.  
  
Cautiously opening my door, I creep out when I see no one around. I sniff the air. Mmm. smoke. Yes, I have a problem. More than one actually. I just don't choose to acknowledge all of them until they punch me in the face. Anyway, I follow the scent. Hey, that kind of makes me sound like a wolf after all. I climb up a flight of stairs into what I guess is the 'instructors' quarters. Treading even lighter, I come up to a closed door, preparing to phase through it to get to the source - my treat to be.  
  
Did I mention I can phase through things? No, I don't think I did. Oops. Well, I did now. Everything on earth has water in it, and that's pretty much what I'm made of - all water. So, I just collect a greater density of it where I need it most and pass through it. Pretty nifty, huh? Too bad it doesn't work on metal. I wonder if there's anything else I can do with this unique talent.  
  
Just as I am about to enter, a hand clasps my shoulder. My heart wrenches and it takes all of my willpower not to howl at the top of my lungs in fear. Something I need to work on since a tiny squeal emerges from my pursed lips anyway.  
  
"What you doin', chère?"  
  
I breathe a sigh of relief when I recognize the voice. "Rien, Remy. Nothing." I turn around and hook my arm into his. "Let's go for a walk." He studies me closely for a few agonizing moments before shrugging.  
  
"All right, but you're not supposed t'be up here. 'Specially not in Wolverine's room. Promise me ya won' try anyt'in' like dat 'gin?"  
  
"Promise." Wolverine. Sounds dangerous, intimidating. interesting. I allow him to lead me back downstairs as I ponder why he was up there if I wasn't supposed to be.  
  
We exit the building and proceed to a fountain bench. We sit down, a little farther apart than I would have preferred. I'm not sure if Remy's a telepath or not, but he scoots closer and places both his arms around me, clasping them in front. "Dark out here." I try for conversation. He shifts. I can see him take something out of his pocket - a playing card, I notice upon closer inspection. Instantly, I see his hand light up. Jumping away, I gasp. The light transfers to the card and remains there, casting light and shadows every which way as it sizzles and sparks.  
  
"It's okay," he whispers, calming me with a curiously enchanting voice. I lean cautiously back into his embrace. He kisses the top of my head, smelling my hair as he does so. "It's part of my gift." He bends to look at my face. "Tu as belle, chère." He tickles my ear with his nose. Weird, eh? Feels good, though. I turn towards him more, moving until I'm sitting on his lap, facing him.  
  
"Et toi? Beau." I hug him around his neck, loosely. He smiles dreamily. I do something unexpected. I never would have imagined doing it, but I do. I kiss him. Just a simple kiss - a taste. Apparently, he liked it. Before I entirely pull away, he's pressing into me again, opening his mouth as I do mine. A few seconds later, he slides his tongue in stealthily. I welcome it, adding my own to 'enhance' the pleasure. He moves, positioning us so that we both sit on the bench facing each other. The thing I know, I'm laying on my back, Remy still French-kissing me, his body giving off an enormous amount of heat as it rubs against mine. I begin to sweat and breathe shallowly. I can feel my skin and body beginning to lose water - evaporating. My head's spinning - either from the intensity of Remy's love or pure weakness.  
  
"Remy." I manage to choke out while he sucks on my neck and other.places not on my face. Panic is beginning to rise in my throat as I sense myself becoming dehydrated faster. He stops and gazes into my eyes.  
  
"What's wrong?" Worry pierces his words. My subtle intonation had set off an alarm in his head that something wasn't right.  
  
"I. don't feel very good. I'm getting dehydrated. Help me!" I cry out in pain as I say the latter, hyperventilating. The sweat covering my exposed skin disappears as soon as it forms, with my skin desperately trying to keep it inside.  
  
"Hang on, mon amie." He jumps up. "I'm takin' you to the doc's." I can't wait that long. The worst thing in the world happens. I witness his skin suck inward for a split second, becoming desiccated himself. A whirling vortex of water forms between us before shooting into my chest.  
  
Gasping in air upon impact, I choke as I feel my strength return. Standing, I stare down at his inert body, just laying there on the grass. I scream. 


	4. Anger Room

DISCLAIMER: Yeah, I've tried several times over the past couple of years, but I just can't seem to scrape together enough money to own Marvel or X- men. Looks like I'm stuck with my OC, Chantal.  
  
Sphinx489~ Wassup, my hommies? Yeah, whatever. Hope you're enjoying my story, all. Au revoir. Oh, yeah. QUESTION AUTHORITY!!!  
  
~"Anger, if not restrained, is frequently more hurtful to us than the  
injury that provokes it." ~Seneca  
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
"I didn't mean to!" I cry in agony as I stand to the side of the lab bed, Dr. Grey trying to calm me. "Do something for him!" A blue furred monster of a man dressed in a lab coat is peering over him. A few feet away, a tall man with red sunglasses paces back and forth, pausing every once in a while to give me an accusing glare.  
  
"We know, we know," Ms. Grey says, grabbing my arms, trying to keep me still. 'It was just an accident. Things like this happen.' I jolt at the sudden intrusion into my brain, for the moment distracted as I shove it out. She winces. The man in sunglasses rushes over. "I'm alright, Scott." He turns to me, barely masking the fury on his not-so-perfectly composed countenance.  
  
"What were you doing?!" he shouts into my face. "Especially after curfew! Jeez, one o'clock in the fucking morning! And now look what's happened." I choke on a sob. His presumable girlfriend pushes him away from my blurry line of sight.  
  
"Quiet, Scott. It wasn't entirely her fault. He was out late, too. And her powers are still manifesting," I tone down my cries, intrigued by the scolding of a twenty to thirty year old man.  
  
"Chantal." I jerk to see the blue furred beast beckoning me towards him.  
  
"What."  
  
"I need to know what happened that triggered your powers into action." I swallow deeply, reluctant to share. I'm still to unsure about my feelings for him. I just want to know if he'll be okay.  
  
"Why?" I shoot at him, threateningly. The room grows deathly quiet as they all turn to stare at me. The angry force in my voice takes them all aback. "What does that have to do with the fact he's dehydrated and dying? Just help him!"  
  
"He is, Sirène." I whirl on Professor Xavier, wrath barely contained inside me. "Gambit should be just fine. You on the other hand. Well, come with me, please." Hesitantly, I join him, adjusting my pace next to the wheelchair. Slowly, my nerves calm, fluctuating at ever sound. "Phoenix." He motions to the other telepath. She glances at Scott, giving him a signal that speaks volumes before she comes over to us - 'We'll talk about this later,' it said. He looks away, at Remy's prone form. The blue man administers something to Remy through an IV. We walk into the hallway, an unwelcome hush settling upon us until we arrive at Xavier's office. It's just as well. I can feel the anger boiling up and almost over within me again.  
  
"Miss LaJolie," he begins, pausing until I feign attention, arms crossed. "It seems you have somewhat of an anger management problem. Can you tell me why?" I grunt.  
  
"No."  
  
'Why not?' I sit up straighter in the hard backed chair, glaring at his dark eyes and bald scalp. I thrust it out, only to be surprised by the fact it won't budge. 'What's wrong, Chantal? Tell me, please. We have done nothing here but try to help you. We only want to help Gambit now. Why are you so furious?'  
  
'Because you won't get out of my fucking head.' I construct a 'wall' in my mind, hiding his voice behind it.  
  
'Tell us.' I flinch at the entrance of another mind - Ms. Grey's.  
  
'It's none of your fucking business,' I snap, making my mind create a whiplash of electricity, sending it towards her 'voice' at lightning speed. She shrieks in pain when it strikes and I feel the immediate ease of her slipping into oblivion, out of my head. But the professor's grip is stronger - he destroys the whiplash.  
  
'Please. End this now,' he pleads in an authoritative tone, if that's possible. I bite back a nasty remark in a half-ass attempt to stop myself from causing more damage. It feels as if my anger is something I can't control. I perceive my powers trying to reach out and take his life from him as they'd almost done to Remy. With that thought, a sharp pang shivers through my heart. The professor takes advantage of it. 'We can help you control this - starting tomorrow.' That is the last thing I 'hear' before I black out, a mental blow knocking me unconscious.  
  
* * *  
  
A bright light shines in my eyes as I wake up. Fortunately, it isn't from an interrogation light as I first thought. It's simply streaming through my thin curtains. I groan, holding my head. Xavier rolls into my room.  
  
"Good morning, Chantal," he says. I guess he doesn't really mean it after the trouble I caused last night. "Suit up. It's time for your first session." He tosses a box onto the leopard print comforter. I open it, revealing a black leather uniform. A red scarf belt sprouts from the folds. Not trusting myself to speak, I throw the covers off and stride to the bathroom.  
  
With the door safely shut behind me, I open the mirror cabinet and take half a bottle of painkillers followed by a gallon of water. Don't worry, I'm slightly exaggerating on the painkillers, thing. The pain slowly subsides as my vision blurs and becomes clear again. I put the outfit on. Not to my disliking, I discover that it's a two piece. A long- sleeved leather leotard with a long v-neck and leg holes that come all the way up past the top of the accompanying pants. The leather pants have metal studs holding the sides together at even intervals. I grin, wrapping the belt around the 'hip' band.  
  
Stepping out of my sanctuary, I join Xavier in an elevator where he simultaneously holds down two buttons. The door whooshes shut and then reopens. Exiting, I note the metal hallways have a more formidable look to them as we stop in front of a large metal door with a huge 'X' prominently displayed on it. We enter.  
  
The room inside is humongous - larger than the gymnasium at my old school had been. Light glints off the walls everywhere, no windows in sight. Only two other people are present in the room. Scott and a gruff looking man with metal claws protruding from his hands. Both are dressed in similar uniforms - a solid one piece made of leather. I purr to myself when I notice that it's form fitting like my own.  
  
"Sirène," Professor X says. "This is Wolverine. I believe you've already been acquainted with Cyclops. They are you 'anger management' counselors." He says the latter with a slight twinkle in his eye. "Logan, this is Sirène." Finished with introductions, he wheels to a different door than the one we'd previously entered and disappears, coming into view a few moments later in a transparent globe about two stories up. Computer screens jut from supports inside. "Let's start with a little provocation. Cyclops?"  
  
Right on cue, the man shoots a thin red laser beam out of his eyes at my feet. Surprised, I jump back.  
  
"What the hell was that for?"  
  
"Training." The man called Wolverine lunges towards me, claws slicing through air as he rushes headlong at me. Screaming, eyes squeezed shut waiting for impact, I zoom into the air. "What the."  
  
"Stop!" Cyclops shouts. "Sirène, what are you doing?" Slowly, I open first one eye, then the other. "How did you just do that?" Genuine misunderstanding showing on his features. I look around curiously, taking in surroundings at this new perspective. Ha, I tricked the old corn cob ass. Oops, did that come from my mouth? Must be an anger management problem. Heh.  
  
I plummet to the floor, landing neatly just when I think Scott's going to have a heart attack.  
  
Professor X speaks from his throne, "It is entirely possible that there is enough humidity in the air for Sirène to be able to lift herself off the ground. She is capable of shifting her whole body into water and creating it, too."  
  
"All right. Enough of this bullshit," Logan snarls. "Let's get something done." Scott acknowledges him.  
  
"Sirène. Attack me."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Attack me - or do you need more motivation?" Even as the words leave his mouth, he fires a wider beam at me. I howl in rage when I don't get out of the way fast enough. It strikes me in the thigh, a thin stream of blood seeping from the burned skin rupture.  
  
"Bastard!" I plunge toward him, transforming into water. Halting just inches in front of him as Wolverine watches in semi-awe, I revert to human form and deliver a roundhouse punch that sends him reeling across the floor. The impact of his flesh against my fist feels good. Kind of strange and morbid, but I enjoy it.  
  
Wolverine moves to intercept me, but Cyclops waves him away. Struggling for only a second to stand, he soon has both feet braced on the ground, engaging me in hand-to-hand combat. If that's what you can call it considering I've never had training for it before. It's more like him using professional tactics on me while I learn new ways to fend them off and deliver an offensive battle in unprofessional ways.  
  
I howl in rage - a banshee cry rivaling all others, attempting to fuel my energy. I begin to feel myself becoming weaker, even though I've since stopped the use of my powers. Striking doesn't seem like such a victory unless my fist or foot or various body part is what causes it. I can sense my lower lip swelling a little.  
  
I thrive on the bodily connection and, by the way Cyclops is fighting, so does he. We're both at our peaks, balancing on the very edge of the cliff before we dive into exhaustion.  
  
I thrust an elbow into his ribcage, grunting as it starts to bruise from the force. He grip loosens around my neck and I grab his arm, using the water mass inside of him to flip his large, well-muscled body over my shoulder. As he skids across the floor, a wave of nausea washes over me, causing me to blink several times, shaking my head in the process although it doesn't help any.  
  
Wolverine starts toward me, intent on finishing what Cyclops has started. I'm not so sure that it's part of the lesson plan or not, but then again, I don't think Xavier had actually meant for serious harm to come to any of us, either.  
  
Before he could even drive a spiked fist into my abdomen, Cyclops blasts a beam again - not aiming, just shooting. It strikes its target. I fly across the dome, heat from the burst causing a large percentage of my water capacity to vaporize. Slamming my already sore and swirling head against the metal, my vision fogs, darkness threatening to encase everything. Goose bumps form on my skin and I shiver as my body temperature drops considerably.  
  
Wolverine picks me up in one arm, slinging Scott over his shoulder with the other. I can barely make out through slitted eyes him signaling the professor. I'm hoping we're heading to the infirmary. 


	5. Saturday School

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the X-men and never will. I'm just playing with their characters. Chantal is mine, all mine. She was free.  
  
Sphinx489~ Yes! I finally add a new chapter! Would you like to R&R?  
  
~"There is only one thing more painful than learning from experience and that is not learning from experience." ~Archibald McLeish  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
For half the day, I drift in and out of consciousness, unable to remain awake for more than a few minutes. But, at last, just after noon I manage to fully open my eyes and even sit up in bed. The cold, hard, metal bed. So there are blankets and pillows on it, but I'd hardly call it anything more than a table.  
  
The blue doctor is puttering around the lab stations, mixing chemicals here, typing information in there, et cetera. Peering out the corner of my eye because it hurts to move my neck - I feel paralyzed - I can just make out Scott on a 'bed' next to me. He's still dead to the world, tubes running out of his arm to an IV and hooked up to a respirator. I frown. Why aren't my injuries so extensive? Not that I wish they are or anything - it's just that, well, he's older and stronger than I am. I turn to face the doctor.  
  
"Is he going to be okay?" I ask, nonchalantly. I'm still not sure how I'm supposed to act and react around these x-people. Startled, the beast whirls around. After taking note of no immediate danger, he relaxes.  
  
"I see you're recovering nicely." He looks past me at Scott's immobile figure. "He should heal just fine in a few days."  
  
"Why's he worse off than me?"  
  
"It didn't begin that way. Both of you had plenty of fractured bones - easy enough to mend despite the five ribs total the two of you had broken. You had three, he has two. Not to mention all the blood and bruises, but those are minor."  
  
I wince when a sharp pain shoots through my chest, stealing my breath away. I don't move - or even breathe - until it dulls. The doctor seems not to notice.  
  
"You said I had three broken. Why? Shouldn't they still be broken? And why the hell does it fuckin' hurt so much?" The pain increases as the menace in my voice climaxes. I try to ebb my frustration.  
  
"You were severely dehydrated," he continues, off in his own world, ignoring me apparently. I fume. I burn. I smolder. "You also OD-ed on drugs. That's why I can't give you painkillers." He stares levelly at me before turning back to his work. I sit in silence for several minutes, finding it hard to comprehend what he said. Overdosing?  
  
I groan inwardly when I witness Xavier wheeling himself into the room.  
  
"Chantal, good to see you're up and around again, although I doubt it took any more than water through an IV to get you there." I smirk derisively. He pretends not to notice - probably doesn't want me to go 'over the edge' anymore. "It's time for your first class."  
  
"What? What do you mean class?"  
  
"This is a school, isn't it? You're only gong to have one today, though."  
  
"But it's Saturday!" I can't help but sound like a whiny elementary school kid as the words leap from their home. I wish I could take them back with some of my dignity. I should have just gotten my lazy ass out of bed.  
  
"Yes, well, you've changed all that. You need to get under control. The only way to make that happen is by placing you in more Danger Room simulations, but we can't do that until you gain knowledge of some skills - outside of practice." He rolls away to sit by Cyclops' biobed. Well, if I have to have weekend school, that means that some other students will be having it, too.  
  
I crawl unceremoniously out from under the sheet and pad lightly to the indicated area. I'm no longer dressed in uniform - in fact, I'm already in normal clothes. Huh.  
  
A small group of students swivel in their seats to greet me. Storm stands by a chalkboard at the front of the room.  
  
"Ah, I'm glad to see you'll be joining us. Class, this is Chantal - a new student. Please refrain from talking until after this session is over." She resumes writing on the board. From what I can tell, they're discussing. football strategies? Wait a minute - that can't be right. "Take a seat." Jolting back into reality, I sit down in the back of the room between two students I already know, Warren and Remy.  
  
"Comment vas-tu?" I whisper to Remy, who's studying a textbook clearly labeled 'Algebra 2.'  
  
"I'm fine. You should be paying attention to Ms. Munroe right now." He doesn't glance up from his work - busily writing down numbers and solving them. "I have to finish my homework."  
  
"Shouldn't you be listening too?"  
  
"Quiet!" Thunder barks outside and two dazzling flashes of lightning streak across the darkened sky. I take the hint and shut my mouth. "Do not speak in this class until called on. Understood?" I nod dumbly. "Remy, put your assignment away. Jean has already explained to all of your teachers to prevent you from working on it in other subjects. Don't let it happen again." The weather instructor passes out packets of paper to all the students, leaving him to turn all different hues of red.  
  
"You'd better watch it," Warren says in hushed tones from my other side. I pivot in my seat to regard him. "When she influences the weather while lecturing, it means she's pretty upset. 'Sides, it's not nice to embarrass people like that." He points inconspicuously at Remy. I lower my eyes in regret. "Wanna go get something to eat after this is over? We can discuss what you missed earlier." I sit up straighter and smile.  
  
"Ouais." We return our attention to the rambling teacher to find out what our homework is. Nothing too hard. Good. All we have to do is study what's in the packet of information and answer some questions on the last page.  
  
"Next week, you'll all be writing a report on different styles of self-defense." I grin. Maybe this class won't be so bad after all. I get up from my chair at the same time as Warren and he holds the door open for me before leading me out to his car. We throw our stuff in the backseat. Peeking over my shoulder, I see Remy watching us from a window, an unreadable expression on his face. Not that I really care, since he was kind of rude to me, but still. we did make out just the other night. Oh, well. If he really likes me, he'll ask me out somewhere like Warren has.  
  
"Where should we go?" he asks. I jump, sliding across the leather seat upon landing. He laughs lightly. I blush.  
  
"Dunno. Someplace quiet." I lean back in my seat, leaving the annoying seatbelt off to the side as we zoom out the main driveway. I feel free once we clear the wrought iron gates that mark the perimeter and my spirits soar. Until they squeal to a halt at a stop light and stab murderous pangs through my chest.  
  
We order cappuccinos at the local Starbucks (if there is such a thing as local considering they're every which way you turn, here), then drive to a small, secluded park overlooking either the Hudson River or Long Island Sound. I wouldn't know - this isn't geography. And if it were, as far as I'm concerned, it could be the Tonkin Gulf.  
  
Spreading a wool blanket across the grass under a giant tree, I belly flop agonizingly onto it, holding my drink and the stack of stapled papers.  
  
"Okay, so what've we got here. Look's like some battle strategies and such. Wait. why do we have these?" I look at Warren in confusion. He must see the lost look in my eyes because he sets down his own drink and scoots next to me, placing an arm over my back to regard my papers also. Comfy. I snuggle closer.  
  
"We've gotta know them for Danger Room simulations. Sometimes Ms. Munroe takes us to one of the gyms and teaches them by making us run them, making believe the obstacles are there. She also shows us how to fight in hand-to-hand self defense after we've researched a method. But let's not worry about this stuff right now. We don't have her class again until Wednesday. Let's just relax." He takes my Styrofoam cup away from my grasp, sending me the message we'll be doing anything but relaxing. Not an entirely upsetting occurrence, however. A chill wind swoops down around us, causing me to shiver violently.  
  
"Let's go sit in the car and 'relax'," I say, jumping up. I'm reluctant to leave the confines of his warm, feathered wings, but when the wind's wrapping its cold fingers around my exposed flesh, it's time to go inside. Happily, he obliges.  
  
"Sitting in the car cramps my wings, ya know," he says, trailing his hand down my back to my ass where it stays until we reach the doors to the corvette. I shiver with delight. What is it with these x-mansion guys? Why do they all want a piece of me? Of course, I'm not complaining, but jeez, you'd think I'm the only girl within a hundred-mile radius the way they're coming at me.  
  
Once seated in the hot rod, I cuddle up against Warren while he turns the heater and the radio on, turning the dial to a soft rock station. Not something I - or any other 'normal' person, especially male, on the face of the earth - would choose to listen to on a regular basis but it is good make out music. Judging by the signals I've been receiving, that's exactly what my winged comrade has in mind. Still not complaining. After all, he is extremely hot.  
  
Languidly, he runs his fingers down the zipper on my shirt and onto my exposed abs. Only after his hand halts its descent do I notice that he's actually undone the fastener and my breasts are bared to the immediate world. Which, at the current moment, is simply him, so I don't think too much of it.  
  
Offhandedly, I note that Remy's embellishments are no longer visible - or even there. Shortly after this thought drifts out the other side of my head, Warren's take their place. Time for a carefully calculated distraction.  
  
I shift downward quickly, just far enough so that the next time he goes down, they end up on mine. Startled, he pulls back for moment, then kisses me again, smothering my entire body with his glorious warmth. My foot hits the dashboard. Cold air floods out the vents, keeping me from the reaction that landed Remy in the sick room. His gorgeous white wings envelope the two of us in a warm cocoon. I nearly tear his shirt off, emotions bubbling over again - this time not in anger, though.  
  
I gaze into his eye as he pulls back and stares down at me also, smiling. He squeezes my ass gently. I jump, starting to laugh at my reaction. But my lips part and soon his tongue slips in, caressing mine.  
  
Bang! We launch into the air, biting each other's tongues in surprise.  
  
"Oww!" we exclaim, in chorus. We break into laughter as the rain outside changes from a light drizzle to a rough downpour. Sitting up, he turns the key in the ignition.  
  
"We should head back," he says, resting his arm across the headrest as he backs out of the parking spot. Not commenting, I slide the zipper back up on my shirt, only to find that it's stuck - with half my boobs spilling out. He glances over, a smile dancing in his bright blue eyes. "Here. wear mine." He hands me the large over shirt.  
  
"What're you gonna wear?"  
  
"Nothing. I don't really need to. Wings and all. They understand if I come back without a shirt sometimes. You on the other hand." I grin. We pull into the spacious garage, parking next to an awesome-looking motorcycle and a crotch rocket. "Umm." he hesitates.  
  
"What?" I stop, halfway opening the door before shutting it again and sitting back in the seat.  
  
"Will you. be my girlfriend?" I choke quietly.  
  
"Uh." Do I really need to think about it? "Yes!" I lean over quickly and kiss him on the lips. "Yes, I will." He grins as I climb out of the car and head to my room.  
  
As I make my way to my room, I can't help but feel as though I'm being watched. 


	6. Turning Point?

DISCLAIMER: I still do not own the X-men or any of Marvel's components. I have not been trying lately to own them, so. Neways, Chantal is still mine. I have not sold her.  
  
Sphinx489~ No comment. (standard answer () QUESTION AUTHORITY!!!  
  
~"It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not." ~Andre Gide  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Congratulations!" Paige dances merrily into my room early Monday morning, uninvited.  
  
"What the fuck?" I cry out, jumping out of my bed three feet into the air. "How the hell did you get in here?" I should really consider researching booby traps.  
  
"Door was unlocked and you didn't open it when I knocked, so I came right in. By the way, Wolverine said to remind you that you have practice with him in about an hour - you know, you should really stop cussing like that."  
  
"Yeah, whatever." I'm not sure to which statement of hers I was applying that to.  
  
"Anyway, congrats on your new snag. X-girls have been trying to ground the man with his head in the clouds for years and you nail him in less than a week. How'd ya do it?" I sit bolt upright, hopping off the mattress to land in front of my visitor.  
  
"What do you mean?" I decide to play dumb. God, how fast does information travel around here? I feel like I'm in gossip central the way everyone talks all the time and there aren't any secrets. Chances are the whole damn institute knows what happened with Remy.  
  
"You know. You are going out with him. Fine if you're not going to comment, but I was hoping you'd be more responsive than a brick wall." Nice attempt at humor, but I fail to see the relevance and it's lost on me. Paige sits in my desk chair quietly for a few minutes, studying her shoes while she tries to find something to say. At least I think she is. I'm certainly not going to. She glances up at me. "So. where're you from?" I look over at her.  
  
"Baton Rouge," I reply, half-whispering. "Until I ran away anyway." I get up from my perch on the bedstead and walk over to view myself in the mirror.  
  
"Why'd you run away?" Her honey-thick accent oozes terribly into the sentence and it takes me a few seconds to translate. "I heard your parents - or anyone else for that matter - never even knew what you'd become. Ya know, after the accident. You just up and left."  
  
"I can't stand to be tied down," I say.  
  
"Kinda like some other people I know here." I have nothing to say to that. "But something tells me that's not the only reason."  
  
"Too bad you'll never know." I just love sarcasm, don't you? It has so many different uses. Think about it: irony, irritation, turn-ons, etc. There's no end to its power. Okay, don't know where that came from.  
  
"How'd you get to Chicago? And how'd you get enough money to survive for so long before the X-men came and got you? Professor X said you'd run away a good six weeks 'fore they even went in search of ya. You just kept managing to scrape by."  
  
"I hitchhiked most of the way. The rest I took a taxi. By then I had enough money," I pause, wondering how much of my life I'm going to relate to this girl. And I want to know why I told her so much already.  
  
"Where'd all the money come from?" She's persistent; I have to give her that. Still, I explode.  
  
"It's none of your fucking business! Now get the hell out of my fucking room, shithead! And don't even dare to ever come back in here uninvited again. Ever!" I stand menacingly, piercing her perky demeanor with my glare. There are just some things about my past that should never be mentioned again.  
  
Gasping in shock, she stands quickly.  
  
"I. think Jean wants to see me," she says by way of a lousy explanation for a hurried exit. With that, she pivots on her heel and practically sprints out the door. Out in the hallway, I hear a crash.  
  
"Oops." Ha. That's funny.  
  
Since I'm fully awake now, I decide to dress in my uniform and explore the ground some more before my 'counseling session.' I open my window for an easy escape route, but then think better of it. For one, I haven't had too much practice with this flying thing, and for two, these people aren't my parents, so they can't tell me what I can and cannot do. So I go out the 'normal' way and proceed to the upper staircase - my new source of adventure. Staff's quarters.  
  
Just when I am halfway up them, someone screams something at me that makes me freeze in my tracks, that controlling entity deep inside my soul beginning to surface, as though through murky water steadily becoming clearer.  
  
"Evil bitch!"  
  
I whirl. And come face to face with Monet. Except this time, the look displayed across it is not a friendly one. Instead, it's filled with pure revulsion.  
  
"I hate you!" she cries. "You're nothing but a cheap whore! I know what you did with Warren!" By now, other students are spilling out of the dorms in both the west and east wings. Unfortunately (or fortunately?), Warren is nowhere to be seen. Or any of our mentors, either. "You STOLE him from me!" She screams, launching into the air and zooming towards me at lightning fast speed. I narrowly miss being decapitated. Changing direction, I face her again.  
  
"I didn't steal anything from you!" I shout back, pissed. "He was never yours to begin with!" She heads toward me again, shrieking in anger. I transform myself into water and she blows through me, splashing excess on the surrounding walls and students stupid enough to venture closer. As soon as I collect all my 'droplets,' I phase through the window at the end of the corridor - outside to where we'll likely do much less damage. Hey, if I know I'm getting in trouble about this later, why not make the punishment a little less severe?  
  
"Nasty harlot!" Glass shatters as she follows in pursuit. I flinch, more upset with the verbal fight than physical.  
  
"Stop!" I hear someone yelling behind or below us - somewhere out of my peripheral vision. "M! Don't provoke her. She's too dangerous!" Really now. I didn't know that. I gotta say, it does something great for my ego.  
  
The next thing I know, before I can even sink a blow into her skull, we're both blasted from the sky by a brilliant red beam. We land roughly on the scorched earth, a good twenty feet from each other.  
  
I roll over, spitting grass, dirt, and blood from my mouth. Monet groans, holding her head, but remains lying down, eyes squeezed shut. I dislodge a sharp stone from my spine.  
  
The professor is soon at our sides, a weak-looking Cyclops leaning heavily on the handholds of the wheelchair.  
  
"Good to see you up again," I choke out, only half meaning it. For Christ's sake, he just shot me outta the sky. Am I supposed to be jumping up and down and rejoicing on his quick recovery from an injury that I'd bequeathed? Yeah right. I hope the bastard burns in hell.  
  
"Sirène, report to the Danger Room - now." I look up in to Xavier's eyes, surprised not to see anger or resentment lurking there. Confused when I see sorrow.  
  
"Wolverine will be waiting for you there," Scott states, giving me a reassuring smile. Well, not really a smile, but as close to it as he's probably capable. Strange that he'd appear sad as well. Mystifying. I peel myself from the ground, standing, staring levelly at them for a few moments, trying to find answers to unasked questions. I brush past them, half knocking Scott down. He stumbles to the side but remains vertical.  
  
As arranged, several minutes later, Logan is indeed waiting for me. Along with about a foot of water and a few various boulders covering the metal floor.  
  
"Glad you could make it without hurtin' anyone else," he snarls, for once leaving his claws tucked neatly in their sheaths. "Time for a good, solid fist fight. You can use your powers as long as you don't dehydrate me and I won't use my claws on you. Got it?" I nod, smirking. This is going to be way more fun than fighting Cyclops. This guy I can practically kill and he'll be okay tomorrow.  
  
I sprint towards him, at the last minute vaulting into the air to kick him in the chest. He stumbles backward a step as I land and rise again, thrusting a fist into his nose. A thin trail of blood snakes its way from his nostril before drying up in a matter of seconds. I growl and strike again. This feels wrong.  
  
In my moment of hesitation, he swings a solid fist toward the side of my head. I'm still distracted, trying to figure out what's wrong. I forget to duck. The realization hits me the same time his fist does.  
  
I go down wondering why that malicious presence isn't present. I don't want to fight him anymore. At least, not this minute. My head slams into the floor.  
  
My eyes flutter, attempting to blink away dizziness and the non- subsiding pain in the back of my skull. I force myself to swallow and shove myself up from a disgraceful position on the floor. I fight back vomit.  
  
"Don't you think it's unethical to make me fight when nothing's wrong at the moment?" Other than that I can't even tell which one of you is the real one. Since when is he a triplet?  
  
He gives me a strange look, actually pondering what I'd said. "You know, I think you might be right. But I'm not sure if I should just let you leave when we've got an hour in here. Can I just piss you off?" He grins at the latter. I wince, rubbing my head. I make myself return a smile. "Go on, get out of here. But don't let anyone see you out of uniform for the next hour - and don't hurt anyone." Remind me to thank the big mean man later - after my head stops throbbing and I can walk without stumbling.  
  
Needless to say, I proceed hurriedly to the door. 


	7. Continuous Crimes

DISCLAIMER: I have no intention of owning the X-men or any of Marvel's stuff! Can I stop putting this on here?!  
  
Sphinx489~ Hey! I'm actually updating! What d'ya know? Hey! Wanna actually R&R? :).  
  
~"Life is nothing but a competition to be the criminal rather than the victim." ~Bertrand Russell  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I rush up to my room immediately after Logan let me go and change into a cute, but tight outfit. It consists of a pair of jeans and a maroon t-shirt with a low, oval-cut neck. Very fashionable if I do say so myself. Something I picked up at the mall (like the rest of my clothes).  
  
Opening the door quietly, I sneak out into the hallway and head out on a previously interrupted exploration. Rounding the corner, I nearly jump out of my skintight clothing as I run into another student. Why do I always get caught? I just want to get into some honest trouble.  
  
"Jeez! You scared the shit outta me, Bobby," I complain, shoving him playfully into the wall. He grins defensively and I quickly understand he's out for some fun as well.  
  
"Sorry, but I thought I was the only one out of class. You cuttin'?"  
  
"No, Wolverine let me leave. But you're playing hooky, apparently."  
  
"Yeah. Wanna go explore the staff's rooms?" I mischievously smile my approval.  
  
Linking arms with him and leading him up the back staircase, I reply, "This could be the start of a long and beautiful relationship." To which he can only laugh, especially since he's dating Marie. Reaching the top, I go to the first door on the right - the one I've been trying to investigate since I first came here.  
  
"Uh.Chantal," he hesitates. "Are you sure we should go in this one? It's Wolverine's - he'll catch our scent and we'll be so screwed."  
  
"Nonsense. It's not like we aren't screwed already if they find out we're up here. But anyway, water distorts smells and it'll throw him off. He'll never know it was us," I say the latter while transforming into my liquid form. He shrugs his shoulders and shifts into solid ice. A nifty trick, but I'd better make sure I never piss him off or I'll be in some serious trouble.  
  
So, without further time wasting, I phase both of us through the 'solid' wood door. Upon entering, we find ourselves in a dimly lit mini- apartment, neatly furnished with dark cherry. Nothing is out of place and one would think no one inhabited it if not for the unmade bed displayed in the center of it. On top of a mini-fridge (everything in here is mini!) in the corner, there is a box of cigarettes. The good kind.  
  
"Jackpot!" I march over, leaving Bobby staring about the room, and snatch them from their resting spot. Bobby comes over and gives me a shocked expression. "What?" Not waiting for an answer, I open the refrigerator and pull out a couple of bottles of chilled beer.  
  
"You can't take that! That's not right!" I turn to regard him, half offering a bottle as I spy larger ones of tequila and, oooo, vodka next to him on a counter. He quickly refuses. "No way. I'm not getting into that much trouble. I think Monet's right about you." I freeze. The glass phial crashes on the floor, spilling its contents onto a darkening carpet. I shift to face Bobby, who is now less than a few inches away from me.  
  
"What did you just say?" I ask in a low, threatening voice. Neither of us move to collect the broken pieces or dry the mess as we stare each other down. Bobby swallows.  
  
"Uh."  
  
"What did Monet say about me?!" I can feel the fury rising in my throat. Hastily, I take a swig of the tequila to calm my fluctuating nerves and tilt my head back as the burning liquid slides down my esophagus. I don't want to hurt Bobby, not when we are supposed to be having fun. Besides, nothing is his fault, it's all M's.  
  
"She. was spreading rumors about you. Saying she saw you leaving.Warren's car on Saturday and.making up all sorts of nasty stories about you - like you used to be a whore before you came here and.stuff like that. None of us really believe her because we all know she had - still has - a major crush on him, but." he trails off. I motion for him to continue as I drain the first bottle of beer and go back for a second. I feel like getting wasted. I can partially guess where this story is leading.  
  
He takes a deep breath.  
  
"But?" I prod.  
  
"A few of us overheard her talking to Paige about it and Paige piped in with.whatever you were talking to her about before you exploded at her and they just kept spinning this wild tale that for some reason just makes sense. Monet just took off and told everybody you were a serious, disgusting criminal. Paige's been so distraught over it all that the Prof's allowing her to miss classes for a few days -"  
  
"Wait a minute. Xavier's heard everything, too?"  
  
"No. None of the instructors have. I don't think Warren has, either. He's been in upstate New York and he won't be back until late tomorrow or maybe even Wednesday. The Prof won't read her mind unless she gives him permission and she hasn't. As far as the teachers are concerned, the rumors are unknown for now. Not that it matters - they're not true. Are they?"  
  
I give him a look. I push angrily off the leather chair I'd taken up residence on. He stands as well, coming over to steady my tipsy self.  
  
Did I mention that you view the world from an entirely different perspective when it's swirling around on you? Let me tell ya, it's an interesting experience.  
  
"Where're you goin'?"  
  
"Out," I spit at him as I walk unsteadily towards the door. He follows, no doubt worried about when Logan will be returning. Stumbling down the stairs, I somehow manage to land, struggling, upright at the base, leaning heavily on the railing.  
  
"I don't think it's a good idea for you to go anywhere," he says quietly, steadying me by placing his hands around my waist. Grateful for his extra support, I light another cigarette and thankfully inhale, gaining a tiny amount of soberness with each drag. "Come on, you look like you're going to pass out - or puke." I agree with the latter, so I semi-willingly allow him to lead me into his room and to the bathroom.  
  
"Wanna have some more fun?" I slur, trying to seduce him as he holds my hair back, preparing for something I'm unsure of. I light a new cigarette and Bobby coughs as a fresh cloud of smoke is exhaled into his face. He shakes his head, unbelievingly. I feel the urge.  
  
Choking on the bile, I vomit into the cold porcelain bowl known to you as a toilet and me as a savior. I collapse on the tile floor, leaning heavily on the seat. Hmm.wonder how many germs I'm picking up here. He kneels beside me with a wet washcloth, wiping my sweating face off.  
  
"You gonna be okay?" he asks, anxiety exhibited in his intonation. I close my eyes and tilt my head back 'til it rests on his chest. His cologne fills my nostrils and I inhale deeply, beginning to enjoy my position. Until I lurch forward and wretch some more. My throat is killing me.  
  
"Right." I stand up, shoving him to the ground as I do so. He looks up at me, shocked, before jumping to his feet as I guzzle a glass of water sitting on the edge of the sink. Fighting back the urge to puke again, I punch him in the side of the head with a blow surprisingly steady for a drunk. He fell to the floor, blood seeping from a small cut on his skin. My hand hurts but I feel a little better. Out comes another cigarette.  
  
Staggering under the make believe weight of sobering drunkenness, I make my way to the garage where Warren parks his car. At the end of the hallway, I run into Mr. Whatever-his-last-name-is, also known as Scott. I brush rudely past him, confidence returning over my stability. I think I forgot to take the cigarette from my lips.  
  
"Are you all right, Chantal?" he asks, moving to stop me.  
  
"Like you would care," I retort. I slam the door leading to the garage in his face, pushing the bolt closed. On the other side, I can hear running footsteps halting and Bobby yelling out to Scott about what had happened. The next instant, the door is rattling on its hinges as Cyclops no doubt blasts it with his beam, joined by Iceman's barrage. I fly shakily to the crotch rocket I'd seen earlier and climb on, happy to see that the owner was stupid enough to leave the keys hanging on the handlebars.  
  
Bang! I don't look back as the door shudders for the last time and crashes to the hard floor, splintering into several scorched pieces. Behind me, I hear shouting as I rev the engine and guide the bike to the open garage doors. Zooming down the driveway to the hurriedly closing gates, I hear the following footfalls halt to be replaced by shouting. Ignoring it, I barely manage to squeeze through before the wrought iron fence shuts me in. I'm free.  
  
Shaking off drowsiness and unsteadiness, I shift gears and drive away from the mansion as fast as the Buell can take me.  
  
Half an hour later, I spot a quaint little pub and park there. I go inside, sit down on a bar stool and order a tall, frothy alcoholic drink, attempting to lose myself in the moment, forgetting everything in my sorry excuse for a life.  
  
Before the bartender and I even get in a fight over the possibility of my being underage, a tall, dark, and grungy, but cute man joins me at my side.  
  
"Wassup, babe," he drawls. "Let's go have some fun." He gestures towards two other men behind him.  
  
"Not unless you've got any money and would care to buy me and a drink," I spit at them, disgusted.  
  
They grab me and start to drag me out the backdoor. I slide easily off the stool, startled and upset by the realization that the bartender has turned his back on me. I'm alone.  
  
They slam me into a tree. Coughing, I begin to fall to the dirty earth, almost entirely unconscious - from the alcohol, the cigarettes, the impact, and the earlier concussion.  
  
"Come on, sweetheart. This isn't going to be much fun if you don't put up a fight." One of the cronies strikes me across the cheek. I wince, feebly trying to dehydrate him. I don't succeed. The whirling vortex halts its procession before it's entirely left his chest and is promptly sucked back in.  
  
"Dirty mutant!" Gee, doesn't that sound familiar. Why do I keep hearing that?  
  
They send another blow into my stomach and I choke up more liquid mixed with blood this time. Too much blood. It dribbles down my shirt, disappearing into a puddle when it drips off onto the ground. By now, the pain is almost unbearable.  
  
I'm so weak; I can't even defend myself. I start to cry, tears streaking down my face, joining the grime smeared across it. I hate showing weakness.  
  
The big man comes toward me, throwing me onto the ground. My pants are soaked from the puddle I land in.  
  
"Time we taught you people a lesson," he says, rolling me onto my back and placing his full weight on my legs. I sink deeper into the mud and let out a tiny, but sharp cry. He grins, a gold tooth showing in front. He leans over, smothering me with his smoke-smelling body. I cough as he rests his weight on my stomach through his hands. He curses disgustedly as I throw up more sanguine fluid from the sensation of shattering ribs. I wonder if they really are breaking into a thousand pieces. I pray I die shortly, then.  
  
"Bitch!" Another gang member comes over to assist him in stripping my pants down - the third standing off to the side, holding a formidable looking rod, smacking it on his palm while he watches for passersby.  
  
"We're gonna show you exactly how we feel about your kind inhabiting the planet, you nasty whore," he leers down at me. The others chuckle evilly, sneering at my tear-streaked face. I can barely make out their features through my blurry vision as the evening sky dims. Why does this shit always seem to happen to me? It's like I'm drawn to it or something.  
  
I have only one chance left. So I take it, ignoring the bone shattering pain that courses through my entire body as I empty the rest of my soul into the night air.  
  
I howl. 


End file.
